A Clash of Demons

by Aleks Canard

  ‘And will you be testifying this on my behalf?’

  ‘I cannot testify, for your crime was not against me. The images are haunting but the nightmares are fleeting. They grow dimmer with each night. My memory of that day is not what it once was.’

  The cruiser pulled up to a landing on the courthouse.

  ‘And therein lies your problem, machina,’ Myven continued. ‘When people’s memories fail, they turn to exaggeration. For in Memory Lane, good may become great, but bad grows worse.’

  Trix was ushered from the cruiser. Myven put his hand gently on the back of her head, forcing it down.

  This was happening quicker than she expected.

  2

  Wooden panels crafted to depict detailed scenes lined the corridor.

  Each held greater intricacy than Earthen medieval tapestries. No colours were used. Only varying wood grains highlighted and darkened shadows. They appeared lively in the natural light.

  High windows with reflective outer layers bookended the corridor. Soft light came through them. Trix remembered her brief time here, all those years ago. She hadn’t taken much notice of the interior then. Red had clouded her vision. Now, the décor reminded her of a library. Not a courthouse. The air was relaxed.

  ‘Where is everybody?’ Trix said.

  This time Myven didn’t answer her. She expected it was because they were no longer alone. It was fast approaching twilight on this part of Zilvia. The last strong rays of afternoon sun were illuminating the corridor. Soon they would make way for stars.

  Trix was shoved through a set of double doors. It was the same courtroom she’d been sentenced in before. Her eyes went to the stand. She’d bashed it in half last time. It’d since been replaced. No evidence of Trix’s outrage remained.

  Next, her eyes went to the judge’s bench. Just like last time, it wasn’t manned by judges, but by Blor’daeyn’s Feudal Lords. All but one were descendants of the original zirean settlers. The ones who hadn’t been turned into dryads, that was.

  They regarded Trix silently as she was led to the stand. Some of them looked as though they’d been dragged out of bed. Trix only recognised one of the men from her first trial. Age was never cruel to zireans, though it hadn’t pulled any punches with Elael Vorlym.

  His hair was grey. Not balding. He had no facial hair. Altaeifs thought facial hair was disgusting, and extremely telling of the lower classes. Skin was no longer taut over his angled features. It drooped slightly in places.

  As for the rest of the lords, they looked much younger. Two were women. The others were men.

  Myven put Trix’s legs into solid adamant cuffs. He took his place at the back of the room with the other police officers. Their weapons were across their chests. They were authorised to use lethal force.

  ‘As this council’s eldest member, and Zilvia’s steward, I call the court to order,’ Elael said. His voice possessed no shakiness. Hearing it slapped Trix back into the past. He’d said the same thing last time.

  The machina looked around. The witnesses of whom Myven had spoken weren’t here. She assumed they would be coming later.

  ‘Beatrix Westwood, adopted daughter of zirean citizens Felix Roland Westwood and Susan Clara Marigold, banished from Blor’daeyn, and by extension, the entirety of Zilvia. You stand before us, asking for appeal. You were banished for the murder of eighteen people. Duskmere townsfolk, all. For the benefit of those who were not present during the hearing, you must recount the events that led to your crimes. Then we shall call the witness. After, you may make your final case.’

  ‘If I may reverse that order—’

  ‘No you may not. You come here, seeking to lift your banishment, to once again be allowed to walk our planet’s earth, yet you scorn our ways. The ways that allowed you to live when your first home was glassed by the anghenfil.’

  ‘Faedra de—’

  ‘Should your words digress once more, then the trial will be over, and you may appeal in another fifty years. Do not test us, Beatrix Westwood. You do our planet a disservice by using it as your title, then being paraded on the news as a criminal, wanted by the Consortium. Choose your next words carefully. None of us gathered here believe you deserve this appeal. We debated changing the laws to exempt you. Be thankful we decided to uphold order.’

  Trix wanted to slap Elael so hard he choked on his own teeth. But that wasn’t going to help her now. She could feel her memories coming to her mind’s forefront.

  Or maybe she was descending into them.

  No longer was the machina in the courtroom. She was strolling Memory Lane. Headed to the dodgy neighbourhoods. Right at the beginning. Buildings were boarded up. The road was covered in potholes. Neon signs crackled and spat. Their pink lettering fading under perpetually dark clouds. Trix kept walking. There was a desert beyond the town. It stretched on to the horizon.

  An odd sense of finality struck the machina. Beyond that desert was Mair Ultima. And before that, nothing.

  She found herself standing in Duskmere’s main street. Pilgrim’s Way, it was called. The machina couldn’t face the events there at present. She had to ease into them. Start from earlier. Images rushed to her head. Trix headed to the bar. Its batwing doors had fallen from their hinges many moons ago. Stools had toppled before the counter. Trix dusted one off. Sat down.

  That day had begun like any other.

  3

  The White Death, Child of the Precursors

  Earth Year: 2727

  Location: Felix’s Cabin, Zilvia

  Some things ended, some began.

  The Valkyrie would never finish her machina training. The war was over. Hardly won yet fiercely fought. But monsters still roamed the galaxy. And now, after nine years of being taught the ways of the sword and pistol, of studying countless tomes about monster anatomy, Trix was ready to claim the title of Huntress.

  She awoke in her bed. Before the dawn. Trix’s birthday had technically been a couple of weeks ago. Felix had insisted her present wasn’t ready. Thanks to Susan’s position as liaison to Blor’daeyn’s Feudal Lords on behalf of Agius, they didn’t want for money. However, their wealth didn’t change the Westwood’s lives that much. They still lived in the same mountainside cabin which Susan had gradually spruced up over the years.

  Trix hadn’t seen a lot of Susan in recent weeks. The enchantress said she was busy. Trix had an inkling of why. Today, she’d see if she was right.

  The machina slipped on a dress. Headed into the hallway. She went to the kitchen to make breakfast. Listened. Felix would be up in ten minutes.

  Sure enough, he was. The machina was never wrong.

  ‘Morning, my friend.’

  ‘Good morning, dad,’ she said, kissing him on the cheek. She served herself, then Felix. Two omelettes with freshly squeezed pear juice. Susan insisted on paying top dollar for fresh produce in Blor’daeyn. Trix wasn’t complaining. They definitely tasted better.

  ‘Today’s the big day. Are you excited to pass your final test?’

  ‘I’d be more excited if I knew what it was.’

  ‘Aryagyr and I think you’ll like it.’

  ‘Susan’s going to be there, right?’

  ‘I’ve talked the dryads into letting her be present for the ceremony, yes. Then we have to celebrate. Where will we go? To Agius? We’ll drink them dry of all their fruit infused liquors and dance on the rooftops until first light. Or to Blor’daeyn’s high streets? Their mosaicked roads will bear our dancing all night and still beg for more. We can go anywhere you like.’

  ‘I’ll focus on celebrating once the test is done.’

  ‘You must loosen up sometimes. If you could be half as relaxed as you are in combat, then I think you’d enjoy yourself more. And celebration isn’t to be focused on. You’re not being graded on it.’

  ‘I suppose I still feel like celebrating isn’t allowed.’

  ‘I see,’ Felix said, putting his knife and fork down. ‘While they may have trained you well on Mair Ul
tima, I wish they had let you be children.’

  ‘We had a war to win. And war’s no place for children. Only soldiers.’

  ‘And even they would be better off being elsewhere. I say that those who enact war should go themselves. Let them fight one on one, if any fight must be fought at all.’

  ‘I still find it amusing that you, a man who kills monsters for a living, detests violence.’

  ‘I don’t kill monsters for a living. Susan tells me every day that I should stop my profession. That there’s no need. And she’s right. There isn’t. But I enjoy it. There is tranquillity to be found in marching to face one’s death time and time again. The only reason I kill them is that a monster cannot be reasoned with.’

  ‘Except for lesser dragons, greater dragons, certain wraiths, trolls, ogres—’

  ‘You know what I mean. Though I am relieved to see that you’ve retained your theory lessons.’

  ‘Only enough to prove you wrong.’

  ‘My friend, you’re smarter than I will ever be. Of that I have no doubt.’

  ‘Surely war is necessary when you’re facing someone unreasonable?’

  ‘Unfortunately. All it takes is one psychopath for the galaxy to unravel.’

  Trix raised her glass. ‘To no more psychopaths, then.’

  ‘And ain’t that the truth?’ Felix grinned. They clinked glasses. Finished their food in silence. Trix put the dishes in the sink once they were done. She went to walk outside.

  ‘Where do you think you’re going?’

  ‘For a walk. It’s a nice morning.’

  ‘I thought you’d rather get your belated birthday present.’

  ‘I wouldn’t object to it.’

  ‘Then I think you know where we’re going.’

  ‘But I thought the test wasn’t until this afternoon.’

  ‘You know how it is. I’m an old man. I could’ve sworn I said this morning.’

  ‘You always say that playing the fool ensures it’s only fools you’ll persuade. Do you take me for a fool, dad?’

  ‘It’s my duty as a father. I can’t let you get a big head.’

  ‘Worried about me developing an ego?’

  ‘Not at all. Having a big head would be a tremendous disadvantage in combat. What an easy target.’

  Trix rolled her eyes with a smile. Returned to her room. Slipped trousers on under her dress which was short anyway, like a long t-shirt. She laced up her boots, strapped her pistol to her hip, put on her winter coat. Met Felix outside.

  The two of them walked the same way they’d been walking for years. Down the mountain pass, which, on this particular morning, was shrouded in fog. Through the outer forest, right at the crossroad. Then along the border to Old Man Baxter’s cabin. They didn’t need him to guide them anymore. After all these years, they’d finally committed the route to memory. Baxter would often accompany them anyway, if he was awake. He wasn’t sitting on his front porch when Trix and Felix walked past. Trix heard him snoring from inside. It was winter on this part of Zilvia, and it was much colder than previous years. Snow hadn’t started falling yet. Felix reckoned it would within a couple days when the temperature levelled to zero degrees.

  The weather in Xifaw, despite the forest being cloaked in near constant shade, remained fairly constant all year round. Trix no longer felt a chill when she entered the trees. The forest was like her third home. Even though she lived in such close proximity to Xifaw, being on the forest floor felt like she’d travelled worlds away.

  As Trix and Felix reached Aefonryr, the name of Raey’s dryad settlement, they were surprised to see the dryad was not awaiting them by the bridge. Trix’s medallion vibrated. This was different. She stepped in front of Felix, pushing him back lightly. Ready to strike at whatever anomaly had invaded the forest.

  Susan Marigold stepped out of nowhere. She’d been hiding behind an illusion. Was holding a cloth covered object.

  ‘Good morning, little one.’

  ‘Susan,’ Trix said, her voice smattered with relief. She hugged her mother. ‘The dryads granted you passage?’

  ‘They understood today’s significance. And I told them that I simply wouldn’t miss it. You know I would’ve loved you to become an enchantress or a sorceress, but I’m thrilled at how you’ve blossomed as a huntress.’

  ‘I’m not one yet.’

  ‘My dear, you’ve killed countless monsters already. You’re already a huntress in my eyes. And that is why I find it abhorrent that you do not have a weapon befitting of your occupation.’

  Susan levitated the object she carried away from her. Flourished her hands. Vanished the cloth. It turned into leaves which scattered in the breeze. Underneath the cloth was the single most amazing sword Trix had ever seen. Felix had a couple, but when hunting, he favoured a spear. He’d tried teaching Trix, but she didn’t take to it the same way she did swordplay.

  Trix gripped the handle. Susan’s spell ended. The sword felt like it was made for her hand. Its balance was perfect. It possessed a nice heft. Trix had broken many swords in training. Regular tempered steel couldn’t withstand many strikes from a Valkyrie.

  ‘Felix instructed two fine blacksmiths on how the blade should be, and I enchanted it.’

  ‘What’s it made from?’ Trix said, giving the sword a couple upward flowers. It sang music so sweet dryads would’ve swooned.

  Felix: ‘The blade is titanium. The edge is honed tungsten carbide. You’ll find that it cuts through anything save for Uldarian metal. It will have trouble with adamant, but you could break through with repeated swings. I tried sourcing Uldarian metal. It was out of even Susan’s price range. And what we found wasn’t enough to craft a sword.’

  ‘Felix, you’ve forgotten the most important part.’

  ‘Never. I thought you should be the one to explain it, since it was your idea.’

  Susan kissed Felix. ‘Yes, I think you’re quite right.’ She turned to Trix. ‘Titanium is troublesome to meld with other materials, but I bonded its atoms with iridium, taken straight from a newly fallen meteorite. Due to this, the enchantments I’ve placed on this sword will never fade.’

  ‘Because iridium from meteorites has absorbed magic’s four key elements,’ Trix said, looking at the blade.

  Susan smiled. She was beyond pleased that some of the magic lessons she’d taught Trix over the years had paid off.

  ‘Yes. By passing through the atmosphere, it’s imbued with fire, air, and water. Then it collides with the earth, completing its transformation. No matter what you face, my darling little one, this sword will not break, bend, or bow. Even Uldarian metal shan’t penetrate it, for its protective enchantments should hold indefinitely.’

  Trix hugged Susan again. This was the best present for which she could’ve hoped. Little did Trix know that before the night came, the sword, her precious gift, would run with blood. It would open gory floodgates that demolished as well as drowned.

  Now, there was only joy.

  There was also Raeyeleth, who had approached silently from the treetops. In spite of Trix’s training, she still had a difficult time hearing the dryads unless she was completely focused on listening. She would later learn that spectre machinas were even harder to detect.

  ‘Greetings, Felix, Beatrix.’ The dryad turned to Susan and nodded curtly. ‘Susan.’

  The enchantress bowed so low to Raeyeleth her face was nearly touching the ground. ‘My thanks for allowing me into your home, Raeyeleth.’

  ‘Do not thank me. Beatrix’s dedication to her training has given us reason to trust her. She has vouched for you countless times. So has Felix. Thank them. Come now, all of you. Aryagyr is waiting in the clearing. You will need that sword, Beatrix.’

  The Westwoods followed Raeyeleth through Aefonryr. Trix had come to know many of the dryads well during her training. Each of them had different skills, useful in a variety of lessons. However, Aryagyr and Raeyeleth remained her primary teachers, and the clearing her main classroom.

&n
bsp; Aryagyr was waiting in the clearing’s centre, looking skyward. A sliver of light split her in two. Her bow lay in the grass beside her. She twirled upwards with silent grace, grabbing her bow at the same time. Trix noticed that many of Aefonryr’s other dryads were waiting among the trees. They all had their bows.

  Arnum faces stared down at Trix as though they would be critiquing her performance in this final exam.

  ‘Greetings, White One,’ Aryagyr said, leaning on her bow. Its supple frame bent slightly.

  ‘Aryagyr.’

  ‘Perhaps the onlookers should vacate the area, Raeyeleth,’ the silver dryad said. ‘Death comes to this clearing, and they are not ready to face it.’

  Felix and Susan held hands. They looked at Trix. Neither of them spoke. Neither of them needed to. Trix could read their eyes. They were brimming with love and pride.

  Raeyeleth guided Felix and Susan to a helix staircase which led high into the trees. They’d be able to watch Trix’s final test from there.

  Aryagyr began circling Trix. Moving lithely. Her footsteps absorbed by the moist grass. All the dryads around the clearing’s perimeter slunk deeper into the shadows.

  ‘It has been over five years, white one, since you first failed to catch arrows. To take death in your own hands. For most, death is smoke in the night. Unable to be seen or caught. But you have proven otherwise. You have accomplished feats not even we thought possible. You have defied death countless times. He quivers in his cloak at the glint of your eyes, the pallor of your face when combat takes you to a realm where death is yours to command. Here, under the Arnums’ gaze, you will face death again. Should you triumph once more, you will be sworn in as a citizen of Aefonryr, and given our blessing, passed down from the Arnums.’

  ‘I’m ready,’ Trix said. She didn’t feel the need to practice with her new sword. It had been crafted with her in mind. It was an extension of her arm. A deadly elongation.

  The silver haired dryad pivoted so that she was right in front of Trix’s face. Their noses touched. Aryagyr’s scent was intoxicating. Like wildflowers in bloom during the springtime.